Imposing Indweller
by Albino Shadowz
Summary: Collection of dark one-shots and drabbles rooted in canon. Vague BxR if you squint.
1. Evicted

**7.28.12**

**_One-shot/Drabble #1: Evicted_**

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Over the years, the Millennium Ring suffered many different forms of ill-treatment and abandonment. The most recent of which included being thrown in front of a car, put into an oven, and tossed down a well.

Bakura was becoming rather sick of it. Before, he could understand if people wanted to get rid of the object that housed his soul; usually their hands, if not their entire bodies, were burnt up when they so much as held the Ring for more than three seconds. But the most recent attempts to eradicate his existence… those he was beginning to take rather personally. It might have had something to do with the fact that they were all put into effect by his own Landlord.

The ivory door to Ryou Bakura's soul room rattled on its hinges when it was forced open with an audible slam. It wasn't just the door that was white, either: everything was an impeccable realm of colorlessness, marred only by the slightly off-white color of the inhabitant's skin and the picture frames that held black-and-white photos of his family. Personally Bakura found his host's room to fit him: It was dull and monochromatic, horribly uninteresting. At the moment everything was tinted gray instead; the lights were out, throwing shadows everywhere. The darkest of them was cast by Bakura standing in the doorway.

The spirit stalked forward, body tense and his jugular bulging and throbbing like a writhing creature under the skin of his pale neck. His host was sleeping peacefully on his bed. He would have to fix that, wouldn't he?

A fanged sneer quickly split Bakura's lips. Within moments he straddled his host's stomach and leaning down to ghost his breath over his face. Bony hands wrapped around the delicate, creamy white neck so that he could feel the steady beat of the teen's heartbeat against his hands. Despite the grip Bakura now had on him, his host still didn't stir except for a slight twitch when one of the bony thumbs caressed his jugular.

"Landlord…"

Bakura's deep voice feathered warmly against said Landlord's skin with something almost akin to softness, but his hands tightened like a vice on around his throat. Bakura dug his nails into the base of his host's spine and the latter jolted in his sleep, a distressed look contorting his features.

"Wakey, wakey, Landlord." Identical noses brushed against each other, "Your tenant didn't appreciate you trying to get rid of him…"

For a second, his host stopped breathing. Then large, milk chocolate eyes snapped open to meet the wine-red ones glaring down at him. The frail boy's breath came back, albeit at a much quicker pace than before. His hands reached up instinctively to claw at Bakura's, but the much larger spirit straddling him paid no mind to the feeble scratches. All he noticed was that his host's pulse was beginning to escalate. Bakura could feel his stomach rise and fall rapidly beneath him, swelling up like a balloon as his diaphragm filled with air. The rapid breaths became even more frenzied as Bakura tightened his grip on the lithe neck and settled his weight fully on top of the boy's abdomen.

"Hello, my dear host. Did you miss your yami? He missed you very, very much." Bakura whispered, nuzzling one of the boy's cheeks.

His host was completely rigid except for his breathing that was now escalating to small choking, whimpering noises and his hands that continued to scratch feebly at Bakura's.

"Nothing you want to say?"

Whimper, whimper. Like a sniveling little dog that had been kicked one too many times. Only it was somehow even more pathetic. Bakura's lip curled.

"Don't you have anything to say to me, you little shit?" Bakura hissed, crushing the windpipe in his hands.

"A-ah!" came the halting yell and the body thrashed erratically underneath him.

Bakura loosened his strangling hold but didn't move his hands away. Bright pink marks that were quickly making the transition to the finger-shaped purpley black bruises that shone clearly on his host's neck, even in the darkness.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me, Landlord? Aren't you going to beg me not to beat you within an inch of your worthless life? Huh?"

Defiance welled up in the brown eyes, but it was defiance that Bakura was firmly determined to squash.

"How about next time I take possession of you I throw the body in front of a car? It'll be much prettier to see something gory splattered all over the pavement as opposed to the Ring just bouncing away unharmed. But I bet it would be even better if I threw the body down that well. Have you ever been down one before, Landlord? It's incredibly cold and miserable. Not that you'll realize that; your bones will shatter the second you hit the bottom. Oh, but what about that wonderful oven? Think about the fun we could have with that."

"Go to h-hell." The teen choked out, floundering his legs and managing to kick Bakura's back. Bakura responded by calmly putting even more pressure into his death grip than before. His host writhed and his mouth opened, fishlike, in an attempt to get air.

Bakura's eyes narrowed as he leaned down to crush his forehead against the one beneath him. "You tried to get rid of me. Like I was trash. Well, I've got news for you, Landlord: You're the one who's worthless. You're the one that deserves to be thrown away with your soul stuck inside a damn necklace!"

More wheezing was the only reply. The pulse floundered.

The spirit forced his voice to calm to a whisper. "I will choose whether or not I wish to leave you, pathetic as you are. You can't make me leave, Ryou Bakura, your so-called 'friends' can't make leave; nobody can."

His host was stone-still for a moment, then he slowly removed his hands from on top of the ones strangling him. With a choked cry the teen bucked upwards with his hips while simultaneously giving Bakura a venomous kick, much harder than the one from before. The spirit's eyes widened right before he was bowled over and fell to the floor, in his surprise loosening his grip and allowing his captive to slip free.

Bakura tasted blood as he propped himself up from where he was facedown the wooden floor, his tongue slithering out to touch the cut where red was welling from his lower lip. With a low growl he rolled over on his back and turned his head towards to his host. The teen had scrambled off of the bed and was standing trembling in the corner, breathing rapidly with one pale hand caressing the tender flesh on his throat.

"I'm going to kill you for that, Landlord," Bakura hissed.

His host stared at him for a moment, then closed his mouth in a tight line and narrowed his eyes until they were nearly the same size as Bakura's.

"N-no… no, you won't, yami."

Before the spirit could sit up properly, the smaller of the two sprinted across the room and threw himself on top of him.

Bakura cursed loudly as fingernails scratched at his face, his eyes, anything his host could get a grip on. He shut his eyes and blindly thrashed underneath the skinny body, throwing random punches. Only a few managed to land on their target, and even when they did they were stubbornly ignored. The teen threw a few punches of his own after a while, surprising Bakura with their viciousness. It wasn't long until his jaw and nose were throbbing with pain.

The spirit eventually grabbed his attacker bodily and threw himself to the side, causing them to roll over and switch positions. His host wouldn't have any of that, though, as he forced them to continue rolling like writhing cats as they continued to fight. The two tumbled right out of the door into the hallway between their soul rooms.

Bakura would have had the upper hand had he not been so shocked that his Landlord was fighting back in the first place. Not that he was taking it easy on him. But if he hadn't been so absorbed in both his surprise and fighting back, he might have noticed how dangerously close they were getting to the other side of the hall—

Crack.

Bakura's skull slammed against the stone doorframe of his own soul room. He instantly went limp, limbs and head drooping as he lost consciousness. His red eyes fluttered as the image of the face in front of him blurred.

"...D-d… damn… it…" Bakura hissed before his eyes shut and his head rolled to the side.

His host stared down at him, wide-eyed, then with some difficulty untangled himself from the spirit. He reached down and put his hand in front of the other's face, feeling a strange sort of relief when he felt warm breath brush his fingertips.

Ryou Bakura stared at his yami for a long moment, feeling something akin to guilt well up in his stomach. He knew he shouldn't feel bad; after all, it was self-defense. But, no, that wasn't what was making him feel so at fault… it was that he had been trying so hard to get rid of his yami. To kill him, basically. Get him out of his life. But the spirit couldn't be killed, he knew that, so he was just… kicking him out. Trying to 'evict' him, the spirit probably would have said.

So maybe Bakura had a right to be angry. After all, nobody likes to be forced out of their home…

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**Review, my beautiful beauties, review!**

**~Albino Shadowz**


	2. Spatter

**8.1.12**

_**One-shot/Drabble #2: Spatter**_

**Beware, squeamish readers, for there is 'Change of Heart Ryou'-torture ahead.**

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"It's even more fitting to call you my 'little Landlord' now, isn't it?" Bakura laughed as he sneered down at the Duel Monster version of his host.

Ryou had his eyes fixated on the wall of his bedroom, eyebrows drawn together and mouth a thin, tense line. His arms, lower torso, and legs were completely caught in the other's grip. Ryou could feel the now enormous bones of Bakura's fingers squeezing his insides, forcing them to compress together. It was either very lucky or very unlucky that he hadn't crushed any of Ryou's skeleton yet. The angelic and demonic wings, respectively, hung limply at his sides, much like his bowed head.

Bakura himself was sprawled in a relaxed position on the bed, one hand absently caressing the Millennium Ring while the other held Ryou in a possessive way similar to how a child might hold their favorite toy.

_Change of Heart_ lay face up on the nightstand, the solemn smile still plastered onto the girl's face. The other cards from Ryou's deck were scattered randomly across the floor to the left side of the bed. Oddly enough, _Destiny Board_ and quite a few of the Spirit Message cards were among the ones that lay face up…

Ryou became rigid as Bakura's free hand reached over and stroked his downy white hair with his pointer finger, and then slipped it under his chin in order to push his face up. He continued to stare at the wall. He saw Bakura frown out of his peripheral vision, quickly followed by his body being clutched with even more force. Ryou gasped as the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

"Look at me."

Gritting his teeth and hating himself for submitting, Ryou let his eyes travel to Bakura. He fixed his gaze on the jutting collar bone first, then gradually traced up his throat. As he glanced at the spirit's face, a smile spilt the angular face in half and his eyes narrowed. The irises looked like rings of drying blood against the bone-white hair and skin.

"See, now was that so hard?" his pointer finger began to pet Ryou's head again.

"Let me go, Bakura," Ryou said in a hoarse whisper, hating the sensation of the calloused fingertip stroking him so gently, "You're crushing me."

Bakura's grin swelled. "That's the idea."

Ryou could swear he felt something crack when Bakura tightened his hold. He couldn't help but let out another gasp of pain.

"I can feel your heartbeat, little Landlord." Bakura was whispering, he could tell, but while Ryou was in that state it still sounded so loud. "It's like a bird's, quick and fluttering and so very sure that it's going to die at any minute. Your cute little wings make it even more convincing."

The fingers petting his head left in favor of tugging on the feathered wing. Pain shot like liquid fire down Ryou's left shoulder blade. He bit down on his lower lip and shut his eyes tightly. It didn't help. He could feel the heavy red gaze and the grip squeezing the life out of him. Suddenly he felt breath enveloping his face, warm and lingering.

After a moment he opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with parted lips. A mouthful of teeth made slick and shiny with saliva and his tongue were partially exposed. Ryou barely restrained himself from letting out a cry as he felt his head being pinched between Bakura's thumb and forefinger.

"I can imagine myself twisting your head and snapping it off your neck as casually as if you were just a little animal or bird," Bakura hissed and turned Ryou's head slightly to the side, "after all, no one misses Duel Monsters when they're defeated in duels. And, essentially, that's what you are right now, isn't it? I could break you in half and no one would care. It would be so _easy..._"

The red eyes were alight with insanity and the sharp teeth were completely exposed. The close proximity as well as the feeling of Bakura's breath became too much for Ryou.

"Just do it, then!" he shrieked.

Bakura started, grin melting in a second and confusion quickly overtaking his expression.

Ryou glared up at him when he faltered. "So you are just all empty threats, aren't you? Why not kill me? You'll be free of me, and more importantly, I'll be free ofyou. Do it!"

There was a long moment of silence, and then Bakura seemed to regain his previous attitude.

"Host, as much as I would love to fulfill your death wish," he said, eyes half-lidded now, "I've had a… change of heart. Or, rather, I've changed my mind."

Bakura released his grip on Ryou's head. Ryou was perplexed up until the moment that Bakura grasped part of the feathered wing. His lips parted in realization.

"I'm not going to kill you," Bakura said with a small, careless shake of his head and the smirk slipping back into place, "This will do just fine."

Snap.

Ryou screamed. The pain he had felt before when Bakura had pulled on his wing was nothing compared to this. Bakura had broken the bone as though it had been nothing more than a twig, but Ryou could feel the throbbing aftereffect that went through the now lifeless part of the limb.

"It's a good thing I didn't decide to tear the whole wing off in one go. Then I couldn't do this."

Crunch.

Another of the delicate bones that made up the wing's membrane broke, only this time it wasn't neatly in half like the first one, but crushed into shards. Ryou writhed as the spirit watched with both his smile and his eyes growing wider and wider at screams that elicited from his host.

The rest of the bones in the pure white wing followed, the sounds of them breaking accentuated by Ryou's cries. Whatever thoughts of salvaging his pride quickly vanished in light of the torture. Ultimately the wing hung limply from his shoulder when Bakura finally broke the humerus.

"Y-you're a… monster…" Ryou whimpered weakly.

Bakura barked a laugh and snatched up _Change of Heart_ from where it lay dejected on the nightstand before waving it in front of Ryou's face. "I'm not the monster here."

Ryou narrowed his eyes and looked away, trying to force the tears that had accumulated during the intense torture back. He tried to concentrate on the ground, only to avert his gaze again when his eyes found _Dark Necrofear_ staring back at him.

Ryou jolted in surprise and pain when Bakura flicked the side of his face.

"Don't go and get all quiet on me again, Landlord. It's so very boring when you do that."

"You really think that I'll go along with everything and anything you say?" Ryou snapped before he could stop himself.

Cringing inwardly, he glanced at Bakura out of the corner of his eye. The red eyes were blazing in the beginning stages of anger.

"In a matter of speaking, yes," Bakura replied succinctly.

Ryou stared him down despite the fear that was beginning to gnaw at his stomach. Abruptly the anger ebbed, but the sinister glow that replaced the fire in Bakura's eyes wasn't much better.

Ryou felt skeletal fingers latch onto the wing again—but it was pointless, all the bones were broken so why—?

The digits gripped the base of the wing and the blood drained from Ryou's face.

_Oh, no. _

"I didn't want to have to do this, Landlord, but—no wait, that's a lie. I reallywant to do this."

_He wouldn't. Even someone as horrible as Bakura wouldn't—_

_ [Oh, yes, I would, my dear host, and you know it.]_

Riiiiiip.

Ryou's lips parted in a scream and the tears escaped the captivity of his eyes to leak down his face.

A spurt of red and a grisly tearing sound later, the scent of blood permeated the air. Bakura was examining the small dead thing in his hand with something akin to interest. Ryou gave a shuddering gasp as he found himself staring, horrified but transfixed, at the inhuman limb that up until ten seconds ago had been attached to his body. Blood tinted the base where it had been torn off.

To Ryou's disgust Bakura lifted the wing to his mouth and his tongue slithered out to give the bloodied part a lick.

"Don't do that!" he yelled in an octave he hadn't been aware his voice could reach.

Bakura shifted his attention to him before letting out a low chuckle. "You're right. The feathers would probably get stuck in my throat."

He tossed the wing carelessly onto the nightstand before he abruptly changed his grip on his captive. Ryou squirmed, despite the pain that blazed in his back, thinking that it was his chance to escape, but Bakura kept a tight hold. Bakura turned his captive so that his back and wing were facing his face.

"W-what are you doing?" Ryou yelped.

"Don't worry," Bakura said, tracing around the base of the demonic wing, "I'm leaving this one alone, Landlord. I rather like it. The only reason I want to hold you this way is… this."

Ryou shrieked when he felt the enormous, salivating tongue dive into the torn flesh on his back.

The feeling stopped for a moment when he heard an audible smacking of lips and Bakura hissing in a mock-reassuring tone, "Come on, Landlord, quit struggling. Think of it as me just… cleaning the wound for you."

As opposed to Bakura satisfying his blood crave. He licked at Ryou's shoulder blade again, tracing the hot, wet muscle over the wound. Ryou continued to twist and writhe desperately.

Evidently Bakura became fed up with his struggling after a while, because Ryou thought he felt something was piercing the skin anew, something like… teeth?

"No, no, please no..!"

Despite his pleas, the blood spurted again.

The wound was much more deeply than before…

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Ryou sat up with a jolt as soon as he hit the ground sideways and the Ring made a metallic tang.

Where..?

He looked around, cold sweat on every inch of his tense body. In his room, but… reverted back to his normal form. Slowly he relaxed. Had it been… a dream? Yes… a dream… that was the only explanation. For an absurd moment he almost reached back to feel the extent of the damage on his shoulder blade. Ridiculous. But it really did feel as though he possessed a wounded area on his back—

_That's my imagination_. He assured himself. As was the ungodly taste of blood on his tongue.

He had to reassure himself again a moment later when he thought he heard Bakura laughing in the back of his mind.

"Just a dream. Thank god, it was just a…" he trailed off as he realized that there were Duel Monsters cards next to his face.

Ryou's insides felt as though they had been replaced with ice. He sat up and scrabbled around on his nightstand in the dark. At one point he thought that he had touched something with feathers.

_Just my imagination, just my imagination._ He repeated frantically to himself.

Finally Ryou's fingertips touched the thick paper that Duel Monsters cards were printed on. He reached out for the lamp and clicked it on. _Change of Heart_ still had the same solemn smile on her face, but the angelic wing was completely blotted out with a spatter of dried blood.

He knew for sure that Bakura's laughter wasn't just his imagination when he heard it the second time.

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**Receiving the card 'Change of Heart' in the mail yesterday + reading Yu-gi-oh! manga in which Bakura has an apparent blood fetish + insomnia = this story.**

**You reading + you reviewing = happiness. :D **

**~Albino Shadowz**


	3. Bloodied Eye

**8.2.12**

_**Drabble/One-shot #3: Bloodied Eye**_

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Bakura rolled the Eye around in his palm, rubbing the gold with slender fingers as though it were a good luck charm instead of a cursed artifact. It was so smooth, completely faultless despite its ancient age, with some warmth emanating from the depths, just like his Ring. The power throbbed like a tiny heartbeat when he closed a fist around the small sphere.

It couldn't have been very comfortable for Pegasus to have something beating in the left side of his face 24/7…

Bakura lay on top of the mattress of his host's bed in the apartment, the curtains drawn and the lights all out so that nothing would cut through the darkness. Despite there already being a lack of light, Bakura had his own eyes closed tightly as he continued to examine the gold one by touch. There was something fascinating about handling one of the Millennium Items besides his Ring.

Perhaps he could attempt to tap into its power—but that would require the loss of an eyeball. Bakura considered it for a moment, reaching up almost unconsciously with one hand to trace his eye socket. No, whenever Landlord decided to prance of to 'school' for whatever reason, people (namely the Pharaoh and his little group of sex-slaves) would definitely recognize it as Pegasus'.

Too bad. He would have loved to see the look of repulsed horror on his host's face when he discovered that there was nothing left of his eye but a mangled, cut up piece of bloody pulp that Bakura would have left artfully where he would find it. There would be an equal look of horror, if not a worse one, when he reached up to touch the inflamed, swelling skin around his eye and discovered that a false one had been jammed into his socket.

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest at that thought.

At the moment he made sure that Landlord was aware of him touching the Eye, and that he felt the tiny sting when Bakura slid his palm along the blade of the knife. For once the light didn't say anything as Bakura ran his now-bleeding hand over the Millennium Eye.

"Why so quiet, Landlord? By now you usually would have attempted to lecture me about how disgusting I am." Bakura pressed the cut skin against the gold.

Once again there was no sound from the soul room opposite to his in their shared mind.

"Host," his light tone darkened considerably, "I don't appreciate it when you ignore me."

Finally a soft whisper came. _I'm going to regret asking this, but… what are you doing?_

The Millennium Eye had become slick with blood. Bakura rolled it around in his hand again. "Take a guess."

_Cutting my hand?_

"True, but unimportant. Do you recall the Millennium Eye?"

If he reached out for him with his consciousness, Bakura could sense where his host was in his soul room. He saw him curled up under the covers of the bed that was tucked in the corner, with his back facing the door.

_I recall you ripping it out of Pegasus' eye socket and proceeding to lick it, yes._

Bakura snickered. "How crude, Landlord. I do believe I'm rubbing off on you."

A sigh was heard. _Any particular reason you're bleeding all over it?_

"Well, since I don't want to cut out my eye—"

_You mean _my_ eye._

"We all have different points of view, Landlord. Mine is just more important than yours. Anyway, do you suppose I could cut a large enough section in this hand so that I could put the Eye in?"

He pressed the 'iris' of the eye into the wound, trying to see how deeply he could press it into his flesh.

…_You're kidding, right?_ Despite his host's careful nonchalance, he could feel a bit of fear over the link.

"Maybe, maybe not. It's a fun idea, though, isn't it?"

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**Written laaaaate at night. ^.^;**

**Reviewers are snuggled. **

**~Albino Shadowz**


	4. Screams

**8.15.12**

_**One-shot/Drabble #4: Screams**_

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Ryou couldn't make out any words from the cries that were echoing down the hall outside of his soul room. Everything was a garbled mess that varied from howls to screams. He shuddered and pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, realizing that it was probably a childish action but not really caring. He curled himself into a small ball and buried himself under the blankets after hearing a choked sob that was quieter than the others but no less agonizing. Whoever was crying sounded as though they had scraped their throat raw.

Where was it coming from?

Ryou had heard his share of crying before. Bakura let most, if not all, of the screams of his victims leak through the link between their minds, sometimes accompanied by gruesome images that would haunt Ryou's nightmares for weeks. And then there was his mother and Amane—

Ryou bit down on his lower lip until it bled to prevent himself from letting the tears welling up in his eyes flow down his face. A hiccupping sob still managed to escape from his cut lips when an image of his sister came unbidden into his mind. Quickly he shoved the thoughts away. If he let himself wallow in sorrow for long enough there was no doubt that Bakura would seize upon the images and throw them back in his face whenever the fancy struck him.

But… the spirit had been very quiet for a long time… come to think of it, he hadn't said anything since the crying had started.

_Bakura..?_

Ryou reached out with his consciousness to touch his yami's, only to feel as though he had slammed into a brick wall. If brick walls fought back when things ran into them, that is. He hastily drew back and the mental assault ceased.

At that his curiosity began to override the fear that had built up from the pained sounds. The spirit rarely blocked the link between their minds when he wasn't 'working'. 'Working' usually translated to either stealing or murdering. He couldn't be sure that Bakura wasn't doing the latter thing…

Oh, god, what if he was torturing someone's soul..?

Another scream accentuated the thought. The slimy hand of fear returned with a vengeance and began to play with his insides.

Somehow he found himself tossing off the covers to his bed and feeling his way to the door in the darkness. His fingers wrapped around the door handle before he realized that he was shaking. Ryou took a deep breath to try to quail the shuddering sensation rolling through his shoulders before he gave the door a push.

It creaked open excruciatingly slowly. Ryou put one foot out into the hall. The floor was icy against the pads of his feet as he took a few tentative steps toward Bakura's door. There was a crude carving of the Millennium Ring on the stone door. It appeared to be staring at him.

He stared back for a long moment before he put his hand on the handle. It was even colder than the floor…

There was another cry; this time accompanied by an actual word repeated over and over again, at one point a near whisper and at another a scream: 'help'. Ryou was frantic enough that he barely registered that the word was spoken in Egyptian.

A loud bang could be heard as the door slammed into the wall, but the sounds that had been coming from within the room didn't cease. It was disconcertingly dark and it took Ryou's eyes a long time to adjust, but once they did he was shocked at what he saw.

Bakura was curled up into the smallest form possible in one corner of the room, eyes shut and shaking erratically with his arms wrapped around himself in a defensive self-hug. The entirety of Bakura's soul room could be summed up in three words: Sand, gold, and darkness. The sand covered the entire floor in a layer at least a few feet deep, permeated only by the gold treasures that seemed to be scattered almost at random. Not that anyone would be able to find them in the blackness that also smothered the room.

His pale body was surrounded by many wavering forms of the same shade. They were poltergeists, most definitely, but nothing like any Ryou had seen when he was studying the Occult. Their heads were completely skeletal while the rest of their bodies were thin and washed out with a pair of arms that had hands curving into almost-claws.

They turned to stare at Ryou, and he swallowed as he looked back at hollow black pits. After a moment they directed their attention back to Bakura, one in particular even reaching down to stroke his hair when he let out another sob, his eyes still clenched tightly closed. It all seemed so surreal; not just the sight of the inhuman ghosts but seeing his yami looking so… helpless.

"G-get away from him!" Ryou found himself charging forward despite the fact that his heart felt as though it had switched places with his stomach.

The ghosts dispersed almost immediately, to his surprise, fleeing as soon as he got close with nothing but a flash of white in the darkness to show that they had gone. All except for one. It seemed to look at Ryou with something akin to disdain for a second before it flew forward and went directly through his torso. Ryou cried out. The sensation of having a bucket of ice water dumped over your head was nothing compared with this. He shuddered and shook himself to try to rid his body of the feeling, but Ryou could feel a chill still present in his insides when he reached down to wake Bakura. His hand faltered for a moment before the spirit's shoulder, but another whimper that escaped Bakura's lips was enough to convince him.

"Bakura..?" he shook him gently. "Bakura, wake up."

"N-no, no…" Bakura trembled and his hands tore at his own flesh.

"Please, Bakura, wake up," Ryou shook him a little harder tried to use his most soothing voice, the one that his mother would sometimes use when he was upset as a child, "It's okay, it's just me. Just Ry—your host. You don't have to be afrai—"

He was interrupted midsentence as one of Bakura's hands shot out and the spirit's fingers locked around his neck. Bakura's eyes snapped open as he dragged Ryou down so that they were face-to-face. His host's vision was filled with incandescent red eyes. The spirit had visible dark circles underneath them, heavily hooded and blatantly obvious against his bone-white skin.

"You!" Bakura was shaking again, but this time it was visibly rage and not fear.

He stood up, Ryou in tow, only to throw the latter viciously to the ground again and placed one of his feet in the center of his host's chest, grinding his heel downwards and effectively crushing Ryou's insides underneath his ribs. Ryou gasped and grabbed a hold of Bakura's ankle, but this only caused the spirit to step down even harder.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" the spirit hissed.

"Y-you were screaming… I came to see what was wrong…" Ryou was starting to have difficulty breathing, let alone talking.

"The only thing wrong here is that you have the balls to come in here after I specifically ordered you not to!"

"Then why were you c-crying?" he spat back.

Bakura's eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. "Shut it!"

He stomped down, hard, and Ryou could swear he felt something snap.

Whatever thoughts he had of rebelling broke in half as well. "Agh! Please... Bakura... I... I was just worried..."

"That's a load of bull!" Bakura snarled. He brought his foot down again, causing Ryou to scream.

Finally after his host had gone completely limp he removed his foot and walked away... but not before giving him a rough kick in the face.

"Next time you're 'worried' about me, host, just do the smart thing and leave me alone."

Bakura began to walk unceremoniously away, almost stumbling at some points.

"So that's it, then?" Ryou coughed, even knowing that continuing to speak was a bad idea. "You're not going to tell me what just happened? What those… ghost things were?"

Bakura let out a loud growl and turned on his heel to stomp back over to Ryou. His host found his arm forcibly grabbed and his body being dragged through the sand to the deeper darkness in short order.

Ryou yelped, "Bakura?! What're you doing?"

But, just like his previous questions, the spirit didn't feel obligated to answer him. The gritty sand was caught in Ryou's clothes, his mouth, his hair, everything.

He found himself engulfed in the same icy cold feeling as before as his vision went totally black. For a moment he thought that he had somehow lost consciousness, but the sound of his own ragged breathing and the feeling of Bakura's fingers suddenly grasping a handful of his hair said differently. His head was forcibly lifted up by way of Bakura tugging on his thick white hair as though it wasn't attached to his scalp.

Ryou let out a small cry as he caught sight of another of the ghosts. And another, and another. Until finally the darkness seemed to be blotted out with an off-shade of gray. Dozens of pairs of hollow skull-like pits stared at him.

Bakura's hot breath was suddenly right in his ear. "Host, this is everyone. Everyone, this is, incredibly, one of my descendants. Have trouble believing it? So do I."

"U-um… hello… everyone…" he squeaked. "Bakura, what do you mean about—?"

"You being one of my descendants? You are, Landlord, face the music."

"B-but—"

Bakura gave a sharp, unexpected tug on his hair that caused Ryou to cry out and cut himself off. "There's no question about it. You're part of this family."

"Part of… this family..?" he glanced at the ghosts. "This is your family?"

"Very good, Landlord," Bakura mocked. "You wanted to know what was going on? They were trying to keep me awake."

"Why—?"

Ryou yelped as Bakura pulled out more than a few strands of his hair with the next tug. "Shut up."

"I don't enjoy sleeping. I think that it's a waste of time. And I often am plagued with memories when I sleep. Do you know what they are about? Of course you don't."

Bakura's sentences were terse as he stared at the ghosts, absently stroking Ryou's head with his free hand. His host didn't particularly like it, but anything was better than having your hair ripped out.

"I told them to keep me awake. No matter what. But they got worried for my health… so they allowed me to sleep… then couldn't wake me back up after they had done so. So I suppose, in a way, I should be grateful to you for being a disobedient little bitch. But I'm not."

"What are the nightmares about..?" Ryou whispered, fully ignoring the jab. They must have been pretty bad to make Bakura so upset…

"Worse than anything you could have possibly experienced." Bakura suddenly said with an even more venomous tinge to his voice. "They all burned to death… every single one, except me."

Ryou reached up with some difficulty to touch Bakura's hand despite the fact that it was the one that was fully prepared to rip out his hair. "But, Bakura… I know how you feel…"

Bakura's lips curled and he spat, "Don't pretend to understand!"

"I lost members of my family, too, remember?"

"Did you watch them die?"

"W-well… no, but—"

"Could you hear their screams?

"I—"

"Were you left all alone with no one but their silent ghosts to keep you company?"

"Bakura—"

"Then you don't know how I feel." Bakura said with a tone of finality.

He abruptly released his grip on Ryou's hair, causing the teen to fall face-forward into the sand. Another resounding kick, this time to his ribs, hit Ryou squarely. He let out a small moan.

"Now get the hell out of my soul room."

Bakura left his host to drag himself through the dark back to the tiny crack of light coming from the partially opened doorway, with no one but the mute ghosts for company until he escaped the shadows…

* * *

**Reviews are loved. **

**~Albino Shadowz**


	5. Aftermath Season Zero

**8.20.12**

_**Drabble/One-shot #5: Aftermath**_

* * *

**(At the end of Season Zero)**

**Canon: It seems as though our heroes have won! :D**

**Me: But what about that huge hole in Ryou's hand? Or the places where the Ring pierced his stomach? Shouldn't they, you know, do something about that?**

**Canon: Nope! :)**

**Me: But… but… can't they at least SAY something about it?**

**Canon: Nope! :)**

**Me: Doesn't anyone care about the poor little fluff ball? D:**

**Canon: Nopity nopity nope~! :)**

**Me: What about the Ring?**

**Canon: What about it?**

**Me: What happens to it?**

**Canon: Don't know, don't care. :D**

**Me: ...I'm going to go and write a fanfiction about it.**

* * *

Ryou couldn't go to the hospital. What was he supposed to say when he got there?

"You see, doctor, an evil spirit possessing my body impaled my hand on a castle tower in my Monster World RPG game while he was attempting to steal the souls of my friends."

If he wasn't the least bit afraid of ending up in a mental institution, yes. But he was, so it was up to him and his poorly equipped first aid kit to make sure that he didn't die of blood loss and that he would still be able to use his left hand afterwards.

It was nauseating, to say the least, to be able to see all the way through the hole and get a glance at the ground underneath. Bile rose in his throat as he stared at the torn muscles for a second too long. It was a miracle that the spirit had missed all of the bones. Ryou hadn't even attempted to move his hand, though his fingers had involuntarily twitched once or twice and sent searing pain through the appendage and caused him to let out cries of pain.

Oh, but that was nothing compared to when he started to wash the wound. Ryou hissed and his face crumpled as he tried his best to cleanse the blood as gently as possible. The cool, damp rag did little to soothe him, and it was very much the same when he started to disinfect it, only about eight times worse.

It was just as he was starting to swathe his hand in a thick layer of gauze that he noticed something out of his peripheral vision. Ryou glanced over to the small table in the dining room at the edge of his kitchen, praying that it was all just in his head. It appeared as though the Millennium Ring had given off a dull glow a moment ago. But now it was gone. With any luck, he was hallucinating from blood loss and lack of sleep.

The other Yugi had declared the Ring safe after some examination, though Ryou couldn't understand how he had been able to tell that the spirit inside had indeed been vacated from merely holding it. But when Ryou had given it a hesitant poke with his uninjured hand, the metal felt as it had before he had become aware of the spirit: icy cold. Despite Yugi's suggestion to hold onto it, Ryou had opted to keep it instead… after all, it was a gift from his father, despite all of the trouble it caused him.

The blood was steadily beginning to eat its way through the binding, a bright red blotch staining the center of the crisp white bandage on both sides. No doubt he would have to replace it soon. But he had bound it tightly enough to cut off the circulation as well as he could, and that was the point.

Now that the most vital thing was out of the way, he could concentrate on the five holes in his stomach. Ryou's shirt was still wide open from where the spirit had torn it apart, and he was slightly miffed to find that a good number of the buttons had popped off from the rough treatment. Not that it was nearly as irritating as the perfect half-circle of holes that was decorating the pale flesh on his stomach. He sponged them down the same way he had done to his hand, but thankfully it was much less painful.

"I suppose I'll have to sew them up…" he said aloud with a tinge of dread.

As he disinfected a needle, Ryou found himself looking at the Ring once again. Hard to believe a gaudy piece of jewelry could cause so much trouble.

Ryou didn't have any anesthesia, not surprisingly, but he would have been afraid of overdosing and killing himself even if he did. His solution? Tough it out and try not to flinch. Ten minutes and a lot of accidentally pricked fingers later they were sewn up and Ryou was putting small band-aids over them.

"There. Like it never happened."

You know, except for the fact that you might not have any fine motor skills in your left hand anymore. And/or the wounds might get infected despite you being so careful. And that damn Ring is still there to make sure you never forget what happened..!

Ryou narrowed his eyes as he ate his hastily-made dinner of instant ramen, then found himself turning to stare at the Ring again. Once again, it didn't give much of a response back except for to stare at the ceiling with its single, unblinking eye.

"Just a necklace. Just a stupid necklace. It's nothing. I bet it isn't even real gold. I bet—I'm talking to myself again." Ryou massaged his temples with one hand.

It was a habit that had developed after long years of being alone, and he was always attempting to break it—especially after he met Bakura for the first time. It wasn't healthy, and it didn't make him feel any better.

_[Oh, but Landlord… you're not alone.]_

Ryou's head jerked up and he instantly glanced at the Millennium Ring.

_[You're never going to be alone ever again. I'll make sure of that.]_

"H-how..? You should be gone!"

_[If you're not with me,]_ the spirit didn't answer him, but continued the one-sided conversation, _[you'll be with all the friends I got you. Won't that be nice? Aren't I a good tenant, host?]_

Ryou made the mistake of looking at the shelves on one wall for a moment, then quickly looked away. He needed to get rid of those as soon as possible. The spirit continued to drawl.

_[And you're such a good Landlord, keeping me for so many years. A very nice host. Apart from the whole 'trying to destroy me' thing. But that's okay. I forgive you._]

"_You_ forgive _me_?"

_[You can make up for it now, Landlord. Let me back in… I promise I won't be so reckless with the property this time.]_

Ryou found his right hand touching his left and he glanced down. The entire appendage had gone numb, and the fingers were icy cold as they gingerly touched the area around the wound. His eyes widened. Just as he had control over his left hand during the game… Bakura had control over the right.

The fingers on his right hand were horribly shaky, twitching at random intervals, and Ryou got a sense of just how weak the spirit was. As if hearing his thoughts, he felt pain wash over his mind. Not the pain from his hand or stomach, but Bakura's pain. It was smothering, and Ryou felt as though he was being torn apart at the seams.

"Bakura… stop, please stop!"

Instantly the pain was extinguished.

_[Sorry that I had to share that with you, Landlord… but you had to understand. I need you to put the Ring on.]_

"What? No! I won't!"

_[Do it, Landlord. I'm not asking you.]_ His words were harsh even as the hand he had control over reached up and touched his cheek gently.

"I… shouldn't," Ryou had to keep himself from leaning into the touch, foreign as it was. He quickly added, "And I won't. I'm not going to help you."

_[Don't make me start begging.]_

Ryou lifted an eyebrow. "You wouldn't do that."

_[I know. I won't have to. You're going to take pity on me and cave in.]_ Stroke, stroke went the cool hand against his cheek, comforting despite the fact that it was shaking as though it belonged to someone who was very, very old. Which, in a strange sort of way, it was.

_[You'll do it eventually, Landlord. If not for my benefit... then your own selfish needs.]_

Ryou found himself looking at the Millennium Ring again.

* * *

**This was meant to be a short little drabble, but it turned into a full-length one-shot. And that means more reading material for you guys. Hooray! :D Bakura was a bit OOC, and maybe Ryou was, too, but—*Is interrupted by the part where I solicit reviews***

**Review and you'll get the Millennium Items! -W- *Waves cardboard replicas enticingly***

**~Albino Shadowz**


	6. Downpour

**10.6.12**

_**One-shot/Drabble #6: Downpour**_

* * *

It was raining.

It just had to be raining.

Rain was necessary to complete the picture.

Bakura lay on the ground, breathing labored. The raindrops came down with enough to noise to convince him that they had solidified into cold needles, and the constant stinging sensation more than reassured him that they had. His nude body was soaked to the bone and felt repeatedly jabbed, but he simply didn't care enough to drag himself to shelter.

There was a skull-shattering crash of lightning quickly followed by a throb of thunder, causing Bakura to flinch and scrape his injured side against the concrete. He hissed in pain through his teeth, only to flinch and involuntarily hurt himself again when there was an encore performance.

"Oh, shut up!" He screamed up at the clouds as well as he could with his throat feeling as though someone had gone at the soft tissue inside with a knife.

The tumultuous weather, of course, did little to answer aside from continuing to bombard him with freezing rain and deafening noise. How he hated rain. It was a rarity in Egypt, and he had appreciated it there, but he could never remember it being so violent.

There was a small puddle welling up on the ground next to his head. Maybe if he lay there for long enough he could stick his face in it and drown. That would be a much quicker death than pneumonia or hypothermia or whatever the hell else he could die of while he was out in the rain. Then again, he could always just walk in front of a car; no one would see him in this weather until it was too late. But that would require standing up, something he never planned on doing again.

His bangs were plastered to his face and the tops of his shut eyelids. They were open earlier, but the rain mercilessly pelted his eyes and forced him to shut them. Not that he needed to open his eyes to know where he was.

He was lying right in front of his host's—no, his _former_ host's—apartment. If Bakura cared enough about surviving the night he might try to go inside… but that landed him back at square one: he simply didn't have the motivation to. Just as he really didn't give a damn whether or not he woke up the next day.

The gods had been so kind as to clothe his spirit in flesh once more before throwing him back into the motherfucking world that he had been trying desperately to destroy. They didn't bother to actually clothe his new _body_, though. Those bastards were probably laughing at him.

Bakura had hit the ground with an unceremonious thud and scraped up half of his body. By some miracle he didn't hit the concrete with his head and was spared traumatic brain injury, but that was the only upside he could come up with at the moment. He had rolled onto his uninjured side after a few painful moments of having tiny pebbles and dirt forced into the deep scrapes so that the injury was facing the sky instead. It cleansed the wound, but God, did it hurt. Other than that small movement, he had only forced his limbs to move so that he could draw his knees to his chest and wrap his arms around them. What he was doing it for, he had no idea. It did little to block the rain and even less to conserve his body heat. In fact the only purpose it seemed to serve was covering up his pride, but it wasn't as though there was anyone around to see it, anyway—

The door to the apartment complex opened with a creak and there was a sound of splashing as someone sloppily made their way through the rain.

Speak of the devil.

The sound stopped after a moment, undoubtedly because they caught sight of the pale, lifeless body on the sidewalk. Then there was more splashing, and Bakura had no doubt that there was someone standing over them. He didn't grace them with the privilege of having him look up at them, though, instead choosing to remain motionless.

"…Bakura?"

The voice was barely audible over the rain, but there was no mistaking who the speaker was. Bakura's lip curled and his brow crinkled. Unconsciously his newfound muscles grew rigid at the all-too-familiar voice.

Go away.

He wanted to say it over the mind link, but then remembered that it no longer existed. So he had to say it aloud instead.

"Leave…" Bakura managed to croak, then winced.

He sounded positively pathetic. Screaming at the top of his lungs at the sky when icy rain was coming down hadn't exactly been good for his voice.

There was a moment of hesitation, then the person splashed away, and the door slammed shut again.

Yes. He left.

Despite assuring himself that he should have been happy, Bakura felt a stab of betrayal pierce his chest. But at least he could die in peace.

The door opened again less than a minute later. Scratch that.

Bakura resisted the urge to groan as he heard the sound of someone approaching him again.

"Can you stand?"

Don't answer, don't answer…

Then there was a relatively warm hand on his clammy, wet cheek. His eyes snapped open at that, granting him an unwanted view of Ryou Bakura. There was concern written all over his face. It made Bakura want to vomit.

"Don't touch me..!" he attempted to bite the other's hand, but his sluggish movement was more than easy for Ryou to draw away from before he could cause any damage.

Once again Ryou hesitated before taking action, then slowly unfolded a dark article of clothing that he had been holding under his free arm, then commenced covering the drenched former-spirit up with it. Bakura's faulty mind slowly registered that Ryou was swathing his body in the trench coat he had worn when he had died before. Fitting. His more delicate areas were quickly sheltered, as well as a large portion of the rest of his body. The shivers didn't stop, but the rain didn't soak through the thick material of the trench coat as easily as his bare skin.

The scrapes on the side of his body burned as Ryou unintentionally brushed his fingers against them, causing Bakura to lash out, much more violently than his attempt at biting him and with an angry snarl accompanying it. Ryou backed a full step away, holding his hands up in front of him in a gesture of harmlessness.

"You fucking idiot… that HURT…" Bakura hissed.

There was a tiny flash of what could have been resentment or what could have very well been exasperation on Ryou's face. "You're injured?"

"Obviously."

"Then you should shut up and let me help you."

There was an edge of authority to Ryou's voice that made Bakura want to leap up and strangle him. As it was he could do little more than allow a snarl to slip from between his lips before he slumped to the ground, wordlessly giving Ryou permission to have his way.

Careful to avoid the tender skin that he had touched before, Ryou attempted to lift Bakura up. The slick ground made it difficult to keep his balance and Bakura's feeble attempts at supporting his own body weight nearly caused them both to fall. Ryou managed to keep them both standing by half-throwing them towards the alcove near the door of the apartment complex and planting his feet on the drier ground.

Bakura rested fully against him with the uninjured part of his body and whispered hoarsely, "What are you doing? Just let me die..."

It was alien to feel Bakura's new body, a parody of his own, leaning flush against him, with his own heartbeat…

"What kind of person would I be if I did that?" Ryou countered.

The question was probably meant to be rhetorical, but Bakura answered anyway.

"Someone who knows what's good for them."

"You're delirious," Ryou assured him as he led him inside.

It was unclear just why he decided to assist his ex-yami. Ryou wondered it himself as the two stood in the elevator awkwardly, both pairs of eyes fixated on the gleam of the metal doors. As they entered Room 601, he came to the realization that, if all continued to play out, he would wind up being Yami no Bakura's Landlord again...

* * *

**Inspiration for a one-shot FINALLY decided to strike me again. This was inspired by—you guessed it—storms. Where I live, all hell breaks loose when it starts raining. Hope you guys enjoyed.**

**If thunder and lightning scare the heck out of your cats, review! (If they don't, you should review anyway! :D)**

**~Albino Shadowz**


	7. Numbed

**12.3.12**

**_Drabble/One-shot #7: Numbed_**

**It's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-drabble! :D *begins playing epic electronic Yugioh opening* **

**Warning: Demented Ryou**

* * *

His host was unusually quiet during Battle City.

More often than not if Bakura controlled his body for such long periods of time he would be up against the door of his soul room, pounding on the wood and screaming until his voice was raw, eventually being reduced to begging for freedom.

But as of late… nothing. Not so much as a whimper out of him.

Bakura suspected that Marik's little mind tricks had something to do with it but couldn't be bothered questioning his infuriating ally directly. It wasn't as though it mattered, _that _much, really; Ryou was anything but useful except for when it came time for the trivial things that being alive required: eating, sleeping, and other such things. Every once in a while Bakura would leave him to live his worthless little life as he wished, giving him some semblance of having power over it.

It didn't hurt not having the annoyance of the whelp yelling at the top of his lungs in the back of Bakura's head for extended periods of time. But it still struck him as rather odd.

And so it was while his body was asleep in the hospital and with nothing better to do with his time that Bakura went to pay Ryou a little visit. He strolled easily across the hall between their soul rooms before barging into Ryou's with about as much care as a parent walking in on their child.

Bakura was slightly surprised to find the room bathed in darkness. At first he accredited it to his host sleeping, but when he took a step past the threshold of the door he realized the truth.

The air was heavy with dark magic, and with it darkness itself. The Millennium Rod's work, no doubt. His hands curled into fists as a wisp of thick violet smog trailed up one of his arms and curled around it, squeezing gently as if he was its long lost master (which, if one were to think about it, wasn't entirely untrue). Bakura shook it off dispassionately before calling out to his host.

"Landlord."

Silence was the only answer, if one didn't pay any attention to the whispering of the haze as it licked sloppily at the yami's face. Bakura's eyes narrowed. It wasn't as if the room was spacious and extensive.

"LANDLORD, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME."

Nothing. Absolutely—

There was a small, strangled-sounding giggle, as if the owner of the sound had attempted to smother it with their hand only to fail miserably.

Bakura's eye twitched. The brat was _laughing _at him?

Without a moment's thought he plunged into the darkness of the room, letting go of the door handle as he went. The door creaked partially closed, still exposing a large triangle of the weak light coming from the hallway. The murky gloom was like a second skin to him, the shadows seeming all too happy to lick and taste Bakura's flesh as he took a few steps into the miasma. The pale spirit's nostrils flared and he exposed his teeth when he thought he heard another tittering laugh that unmistakably belonged to his host. The sound seemed to come from all directions, every corner of the room.

"_Landlord_…" he hissed as his head turned from side to side, searching for the telltale shock of white hair as he stalked forward. "You're beginning to anger me. Stop this foolishness and—"

Midsentence he heard the door slam shut, drowning the room in blackness. Bakura stiffened. How—?

"Here I am," a cheerful voice proclaimed from behind him.

Before Ryou had finished speaking Bakura whirled and grabbed a hold of his host's injured arm, sinking his fingernails into the tourniquet and causing the stain already marring the material to grow darker as the still healing wound was broken open. Rather than the customary reaction of a cry, if not a howl, of pain, Ryou was silent as Bakura held him forcibly in place. The boy simply stared at the floor, the thick shags of his hair hiding his eyes from view, and offered no resistance to the crushing grip on his injury.

In spite of his original plan to either lecture or beat the bleeding hell out of his host for sneaking up on him, Bakura found himself just looking at Ryou as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was something off, and that was aside from the far too calm behavior. With his free hand he brushed his bangs out of the way before pressing his palm to Ryou's forehead and forcing him to look up. As he had suspected, his host's eyes were considerablyduller, the pupils near gone, and what was left of them a flat gray. Coupled with the bleary, stupid smile on his face it was very nearly disquieting.

"Ishtar did a number on you, didn't he? You look even more brain dead than usual." Bakura commented as he tilted Ryou's head from side to side to see if he could detect any other differences in his appearance through the darkness.

"It's really funny… it doesn't even hurt anymore. Watch." That was all the warning Ryou gave before he reached for his left arm with his free hand.

At first Bakura thought he meant to remove his hand from the injury, but instead Ryou's hand clamped over his own to force him to squeeze more tightly, not to take it away. Bakura's fingers were quickly sticky with the fresh blood that seeped from the confinements of the bandage. Once again Ryou didn't have the violent reaction that one would usually have (that one _should _have) to having pressure put on a such a ghastly wound, partially healed or not. He simply stood continued smiling.

Bakura jerked his hand out of Ryou's grip and stumbled a half step back. What the _hell? _

The bandage had been stiff and gunked up with blood old enough to go black-those damn doctors hadn't replaced the bandage yet-as a result the thick, dry substance was mixed with the fresh crimson that had oozed from the wound and now coated Bakura's palm. The mixture didn't tempt his tastes at all and was wiped disdainfully on his jeans before he realized that Ryou had gotten a little closer than before.

"You can touch it again if you want to." Maybe it was just his imagination, but Bakura swore that even his host's voice sounded demented.

It took him a full few seconds to regain control over his lower jaw, but once he did the spirit summoned a sneer. "What for? There's no satisfaction if it doesn't hurt."

"Fun," Ryou replied blandly, dulled eyes unblinking and soft smile ever-present.

"Oh? And what makes you think I enjoy dirtying my hands with your putrid blood?" Technically it was _their_ putrid blood and Bakura had gained great pleasure from spilling it a number of times, but saying _something _was better than saying silent.

"I don't know. Might have been that time you pierced the Ring's pendulums through my stomach. Or when you impaled my hand. Or maybe when you_ stabbed me._" Ryou's blissfully stupid expression shifted a little so that it resembled something on the borderline of a glare.

Bakura snorted and shrugged carelessly. "So long as your body doesn't die I don't really care how much it's injured."

Ryou tilted his head, dull eyes sparking just slightly. It slowly dawned on Bakura that he was blocking the only exit.

* * *

**One of my favorite panels in the manga is of Ryou grinning like an idiot and poking his stab wound before inviting others to poke it. :) It made me laugh hysterically like the twisted person I am~**

**Now, you must review, so I can stab—I mean, hug you! Yeah, that's what I meant… c:**

**~Albino Shadowz**


	8. Throb

**1.5.13**

_**One-shot/Drabble #8: Throb**_

**The setting requires a bit of explanation: in Season Zero the day after Bakura seals the gym teacher's soul into a Monster World figurine Ryou misses a day of school... I think... it might just be according to the manga. ^_^; **

* * *

_ Dear_

The word came out a bit erratically in a chicken scratch that most definitely was not his usual penmanship. But then that had seemingly disappeared along with all conscious thought.

Ryou's writing faltered as his free hand came up to massage his temples. Another headache. It was either the third or fourth one that week. He'd lost count. At first the headaches could be written off easily. Ryou easily came to the conclusion that he needed more sleep (the less time he spent in the dead of night poring over books having to do with either or the occult and Monster World, the better).

However, the headaches began to turn into migraines, which were a deal less bearable and explained away with considerably less ease. He would sit in the corner of his darkened room, now hot, now cold, every breath he took sounding as though it was amplified a million times over as his brain pounded against the walls of his skull.

Thankfully this one hadn't escalated that far yet… but…

He put down his pencil. Writing a letter probably wasn't the best thing to be doing when he felt as though he was on the verge of going into a mental episode at any given moment. Amane would have to wait a little while longer.

With some formless thought of getting tea to relieve some of the ache, Ryou stood up, only to double over and clutch at his chest. That damn… _thing _was moving again. Slithering through his ribs with ungodly heat and rearranging things. Ryou counted to ten with his eyes pressed shut, trying to block out the pain that began to repeatedly erupt in his heart.

It wasn't a passing, throbbing sort of pain that happened from mere stress, either, but an unrelenting squeezing sensation that would cause him to have the most overwhelming urge to scream. A searing hand seemed to be wrapped around the organ, fingers sinking in and pressing it against his ribs, as though threatening to either squish the source of life into a bloody pulp or break it into a thousand gory pieces against his bones.

The voice had not spoken to him so far that day. He (Ryou had to admit that the voice was unmistakably male, if nothing else) had asked Ryou the day before whether or not he was happy with his "rent". Naturally it was met with anger and shock on Ryou's end and to his surprise the voice had withdrawn from his mind. But he seemed perfectly happy toying with his innards in the meantime.

"Would you just _stop it?_" Ryou finally shouted and ripped his shirt open with the same ferocity and panic he had the day before when he had been unaware of what was happening (he still wasn't completely sure). A few of the buttons popped off in light of his haste.

The Ring was still there, dried gore plastered in dark reddish brown droplets below where it had pierced—Ryou had been too traumatized to even consider cleaning it off the day before. He'd collapsed in bed, still dressed in the school clothes from the day before, and promptly had the voice's sickly sweet voice whisper in his ear. After screaming at the presence for the better part of an hour until his throat was raw Ryou somehow managed to fall into a troubled sleep, the Ring still there like some deviant extension of his body. Now, though, the sight of it sickened him enough that he headed straight for the restroom to wash off the blood.

There were five revolting, unnatural bulges where the golden pendulums had intruded into his body. It made him shudder as he washed off the bloodied areas while splashing some water from the sink onto them. Still, it felt good to have cool water on his otherwise heated skin. He wasn't completely sure how the spirit was making his body so uncomfortably warm but he knew that he didn't like it. With that thought in mind he slid out of the remainder of his clothes and went into the shower.

After wrenching the handle completely to one side he sagged against the wall, quivering as icy water battered him. It licked away his high temperature and threw him into the other end of the spectrum: his skin was quickly clammy and goose bumps appeared. His headache gradually began to ebb, much to his relief, but there was nothing that could cure the sensation roiling through his chest. Ryou shut his eyes and sighed, sliding down to the bottom of the shower until his bare rump touched the cool tile.

The Ring, against all odds, was still warm when he tentatively put his fingers to it. He lay back so it was directly in the way of the stream of water only for it to seem even more heated than before. After a moment he exhaled and half-heartedly tugged at one of the pendulums to see if he could dislodge it. If anything it only sank farther into him and grew hotter. His heart was overcome with the unbearable squeezing sensation again. Ryou grit his teeth. He couldn't decide if the presence that inhabited the gift from his father was more irritating when he was silent or speaking.

_[You wound me, my dear host.]_

…definitely when he was silent. Ryou's skull throbbed and he silently cursed the Millennium Ring.

_[Ohh. Your harsh words are making me cry.] _The voice had a derisive, mocking tone, cooing as if it were speaking to an infant.

Ryou ignored him in favor of sinking his nails into the pinkish, irritated flesh around where the pendulums had pierced and attempting to rip it apart far enough to pull one out.

_[You really think that's going to work?] _He laughed as Ryou tore at his skin and caused the healed over scabs to break. Diluted pinkish red streams flowed down his chest. _[I already told you… you can't take me off now. You're going to be my host forever and ever.]_

Ryou finally stopped in his efforts and sat back in the shower with one hand to his forehead. The voice was laughing hysterically, causing the throbbing against the sides of his skull to increase.

* * *

**The idea for this drabbley-thingamabobber has been rotting on my hard drive for a few months, the poor little dear. I decided to flesh it out last night when I was grievously tired and probably shouldn't have been writing… and BAM we got ourselves a messed up little Ryou-centric psychological thingy. :P**

**You should totally review. :)**

**~Albino Shadowz**


	9. Safeguard

**4.30.13**

**_Drabble/One-shot #9: Safeguard_**

**Hey, all. Posting a drabble to assure you guys I'm not dead. Believe me, I've got stuff in the works and should be posting something longer ASAP. Until then, hope ya like this tidbit. **

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Ryou grimaced as he pulled the makeshift 'ice pack' consisting of a frozen TV meal away from his face to examine his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eye had swollen almost completely shut, ugly shades of purple and red coloring the formerly pale skin of his left eyelids. Similarly the small bit of the white that he could still see between the inflamed lids had turned pink. He poked at the tender and now clammy flesh around his eye with one fingertip, cringing and hissing between his lips at the pain that the tentative action ignited.

He placed the ice pack back before retreating back to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Every bit of his torn and, in some places, bloodstained school uniform now lay in a disorderly pile off to the side. With each article of clothing taken off more and more bruises revealed themselves, particularly prominent around his ribs and stomach. Spidery and dark and ungodly painful, but he supposed they were better than, say, a stab wound.

While his eye hurt worse than most of the bruises, _both _of his eyes probably would have been blackened had it not been for…

Ryou glanced down at the Millennium Ring lying on his naked chest. Amongst the discolored flesh the gold stood out. It felt cold, frosty cold, as if covered with a layer of ice thicker than the one on the crude ice pack.

"Why did you help me?"

He stared intently at the Ring with his good eye for around ten seconds before he began to feel stupid for trying to directly address the spirit within the item. Water crawled down his forehead and arm in small streams from where the ice had melted off. It was as he reached up to wipe one of the streams away that he finally got an answer.

_[I don't enjoy mortals harming my possessions.]_ The voice in the back of his mind sounded bitter as it did when he returned to his host after having the Ring separated from him._ [Particularly when that possession is you.]_

Ryou gingerly rubbed the puffy part of his lower lip where a cut now resided and remained silent.

_ [I didn't kill them.]_

At first he thought that the statement was meant to console him, but then Bakura continued.

He laughed. _[Mere death would be letting the fools off too easily.] _

"One of your… 'games', I'm assuming?" Ryou could take for granted the spirit of the Ring had gone with his usual form of punishment, but on the off chance that he let them go with a mere physical beating it was worth asking.

The low voice resonated against the walls of Ryou's skull, on the edge of self-satisfied purring. _[You know me so well.]_

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**D'awh. He really does care... in his possessive sort of way. **

**Reviewers get the honor of snuggling beaten up Ryou. ****Alsoyoumightguiltmeintoupdatingmorequickly. ; w ;**

**~Albino Shadowz**


	10. Compulsive

**6.10.13**

_**One-shot/Drabble 10: Compulsive**_

**A word of warning: the plot of this one basically revolves around Ryou having an eating disorder. e_e; I was doing a health project, and, uh, yeah, this happened. **

* * *

He is merely a body. No, less; a stomach, hunger the only thing alerting him to the passage of time.

Ryou wakes up covered in day-old smells caused by grime or blood or sex or some other rank substance he simply does not care to identify. Showering is a relief if only for the false feeling of purification.

The gold against his chest feels chilled, as though he left it in some frozen corner of the house all night instead of with whatever amount of heat his slim body provides. He idly toys with one of the pendulums and nicks his pointer finger.

A perfect pearl of blood forms over the wound before the spray of water dilutes it a few shades lighter and washes a good portion away. He sucks his fingertip a moment before extracting the digit with a wet pop. It tastes disgusting. In spite of that, the bitter flavor on his palate does manage to remind him of how much he wants to eat.

He tracks water through the halls as he barely bothered to dry off with the towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips. Suddenly ridding himself of the pinching ache in the pit of his belly is all that matters.

Saliva starts flowing as he extracts all manners of food from the various locations in his kitchen. In spite of living alone he keeps everything well-stocked, constantly ready to sate his appetite.

Every bite is frenzied and voracious. By the end he's filled himself up to the point of bursting and his stomach churns as it attempts to assimilate every bit of nourishment he gave it. He hiccups and rubs the sides of his swollen middle in an attempt to soothe the delicious pain of being so overfull.

The voice is a disgusted hiss in the back of his mind: _[You're revolting.]_

For a moment he cannot tell if this is the spirit's consciousness or his own. He tries in vain to defend himself either way.

It comes out a pathetic whisper: "I was hungry."

Not anymore. He is nothing short of _stuffed, _a sizeable gut formed where usually there would be nothing more than a concave abdomen. His arms wrap self-consciously around himself as if trying to hide what he has done.

_[Does that somehow excuse your behavior?_ _Look at yourself! Look how much you ate!]_

Suddenly his cheeks are burning dark red with shame, stomach churning for different reasons at this moment. "I know. I… I won't do it again."

He is lying, of course. Whenever the spirit relinquishes control to him one of the first things he does is feed himself, often to the point he is at now if not farther, as he does not know when he will be able to eat again.

A low grunt meets the empty promise. _[I do not desire a fat vessel. It is bad enough that you are a wretched waif.]_

He does not respond, and the other no longer speaks, so he figures that he must have gone… wherever it is he goes. When Ryou stands to clear the dishes from his impromptu feast he feels nauseous, the happiness he felt while actually eating all but gone.

It is somewhat surprising that the spirit let Ryou get away with it this time—or, Ryou _thinks _he got away with it, up until the moment that he loses control to the darkness. Upon being given back his body he is on his knees in the bathroom in front of the toilet, fingers jammed into the back of his throat.

The spirit makes him puke up every last bit, all along whispering soothing words about how he only cares for his welfare, a stark contrast to the harsh insults thrown before.

Even after that instance Ryou continues to overindulge whenever it is possible. Every time the Ring is separated from him are the times that he binges the most.

For hours on end, he just eats and eats and _eats _until he is a groaning mess, rubbing his aching belly. The spirit is not around to take control of his body and starve it, to mock him when he starts to put on weight just as he predicted. He never purges himself of his feasts unless the dark entity is there to force him. The thought of vomiting up all of the delicious food simply makes no sense to him.

The uncontrollable habit has been around for a long while, but if Ryou thinks back far enough, he remembers back when it began. When he was first 'alone' as a small child—never truly alone, the Ring was always there, though he did not know of the spirit at the time—he could only find comfort in a few sole things.

Designing new RPGs, studying the occult, and eating.

When his mother and sister died he did nothing but stuff himself for days on end until he made himself ill. The hole in his heart they left behind cannot and will not be filled with food. He tried to anyway, and still tries to this day.

The long period of time that the Ring is separated from Ryou after Battle City gives Ryou no small degree of freedom from the spirit. And so he uses the time to indulge himself further, deepening the pit of overwhelming desire to distract himself from everything by gorging. His weight fluctuates up and down as he attempts to stop, only to crumble after short periods of time.

When he returns to his host for the final time the spirit is nothing short of repulsed with what he has done to himself.

_[I leave you alone for a short while and you go and turn yourself into even more of a pig.]_

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**Reviews might make me feel slightly less guilty for being so mean to Ryou. ; w ;**

**~Albino Shadowz**


	11. Pawn

**6.23.13**

_**One-shot/Drabble #11: Pawn**_

**Wrote this like six months ago whilst stressing over the fanfiction contest. AUish as it assumes that Yami B beat the friendship brigade in Season Zero. o w o**

* * *

"Let me go!"

"No, no, me!"

"Please, please, please, please—"

The tiny shrieks grate against Bakura's brain, causing his teeth to clench and his temper to flare. It is not long before he's snarling for them all to shut up.

When that fails he grabs one of the figurines at random. It's a merchant, female, and she pleads to be released in the few seconds before he throws her to the floor. The object hits the wood with a small crash, not incredibly spectacular but succeeding in breaking the thing into several pieces. Just for good measure Bakura steps on top of the remains, grinding his sneaker back and forth as if killing an insect instead of a soul. He cackles a bit as he does so, loving the feeling of extinguishing the little life with such ease.

The pieces from his final game, of course, had been the first he crushed in such a manner.

After the miniature is little more than dust most of his toys go silent, save for one or two whimpering cries, and he's free to peruse them at his leisure.

Many different kinds have been crammed along the shelves; arranged according to level, type, et cetera. In the light they appear a variety of bright, cheery colors, but Bakura much prefers to keep the lights off, and so they look to be in dull shades of gray.

The entirety needs a good dusting, Bakura observes as he runs a fingertip over one grimy face, but he really can't be bothered. He rubs his forefinger and thumb together to rid them of the filth before moving on.

A short while later he finds what he's looking for. As Bakura picks up a particular figurine a smile creeps onto his face. It's a sterile expression, all lips and no teeth, but the manic gleam in his eyes more than compensates.

He leaves the room without a backward glance, paying no attention to the small number that once more dared to beg for his mercy.

Saying that the apartment is trashed seems a bit of a stretch, but the dwelling certainly has fallen into bad maintenance. Just as he cannot be bothered to clean the figurines that hold the souls of his victims, the very idea of doing housework makes Bakura scoff.

The only thing he cleaned so far consisted of the refrigerator… clearing out a large percentage of the contents counts for something, at least in his mind. The ancient spirit forgot the appetites of pubertal males and felt a certain degree of surprise that his near obsession with eating was not as a result of his own greedy nature but his body's insatiable need for food. No matter. After thousands of years of not tasting anything he was bound to turn into a glutton anyway.

Speaking of which, his gaping pit of a stomach craves sustenance at this very moment. But that can wait.

Bakura settles onto the couch in the living room with the small handmade sculpture still in hand. He probes the figure with surprising gentleness, running his fingers over the smooth finish on the white cloak and tracing the symbol in the center with a thumbnail.

Bakura leans down to loom over the figurine until he knows that all it can see is his visage and smiles again, but this time the expression looks borderline vicious, a grin that tears jaggedly across his face.

"Hello," he whispers like a child sharing a secret. "Did you have fun with your friends?"

This one remains quiet where the others did not, face staying frozen into the expression that had originally been painted on: a plain but cheerful smile further accented by huge green eyes.

"No, I didn't think so. After all, they hate you, don't they? It's your fault this happened to them." The idea that the others would recognize this soul and despise him amuses the spirit of the Ring greatly.

Pointed silence, but Bakura swears he can see the smile turn downwards a little bit and the eyes narrow a fraction.

He snickers and leans back into the couch cushions, idly reaching under his shirt to scratch his belly with his free hand. The Ring shifts with the movement, pendulums hitting against the torn flesh where Bakura embedded them when his host did not cooperate. The wounds sting a bit when the cold metal touches, but he relishes the pain.

What other buttons to push..?

"I should probably mention that your father called today."

Now he knows for certain the figurine holding Ryou Bakura's soul listens because the sweet little smile turns to a definite frown and the green eyes are glaring daggers. The statement is an absolute lie, his father has not called for months and probably won't do so any time soon, but of course the little fool completely takes the bait. Giddy malice pools in Bakura's insides.

"I suppose he's my father now." The spirit softens his violet gaze and forces his voice into a mocking imitation of Ryou's timbre. "Don't worry, he'll never know the difference." He reverts back to his natural tone to sneer, "Not like the bastard ever loved you anyway."

Ryou gapes at him for a moment, stung, before his expression contorts and in a sudden he bites down on Bakura's thumb. The pain feels like the equivalent of being pricked with a sewing needle, tingling and unpleasant but miniscule. Bakura raises an eyebrow as the figurine bites down again before he proceeds to flick him in the side of the head. Ryou's movements are limited by the lack of dice or a game board, so he can't do much to react aside from let out a pained cry.

"Touched a nerve, did I? You like your father. I'm so, so, sorry." Bakura says it with melting tenderness as cradles the figure in his hand, but his voice grows icy with the next part. "I didn't realize that a loving father could leave his son alone after the death of his mother and sister."

Silence, but the little green eyes are squinted closed.

A chuckle rumbles from deep in Bakura's throat. "Oh, that's right. He didn't leave you all alone, did he? He gave you a cursed artifact to keep you company. And look where we are now. Maybe he wasn't such a horrible father after all."

Little hiccuping noises—no doubt made in an effort to hold back sobs—could be heard. Had he been able to the figurine would undoubtedly wriggle in his grasp. Bakura finds it adorable.

"Sh, sh, it's all right. I know it hurts. If it makes you feel any better, my father didn't love me either, but I turned out fine."

* * *

**I was informed that there was something wonky going on with the review system... I think it should be fixed now..?**

**With that in mind, would you guys be willing to review~? x w x **

**~Albino Shadowz**


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